


At least swinging from the chandelier doesn't involve a noose...

by by_no_one_more_than_me (Lady_Cleo)



Category: Selfie (TV)
Genre: Angst, Chandelier, Eliza needs a hug, Everyone Needs A Hug, F/M, Heartbreaking, Henry needs a slap followed by a hug, Imperfect Harmony, Overindulgence, Song Lyrics, hashtags
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-12
Updated: 2014-12-12
Packaged: 2018-03-01 03:55:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2758673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Cleo/pseuds/by_no_one_more_than_me
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff"><p>so I really fell for this series, not just b.c I <3 the source material, and I'm hoping it comes back.</p></blockquote>





	At least swinging from the chandelier doesn't involve a noose...

_Party girls don’t get hurt._   
(#bullshit) She’d be rolling her eyes if she wasn’t so focused on not letting the tears fall.

 _Can’t feel anything. When will I learn?_   
It’s a question she’s asked before. You’d think she’d have the answer by now, espesh with Henry always teaching her new stuff. But it eludes her- like people’s names and the fact she’s not supposed to chew gum and other minor social graces.

 _I’m the one “for a good time call”  Phone’s blowing up, they’re ringing my doorbell..._  
All those alerts and pings constantly bleating from her phone, that’s all they are. She’s a GTG- good time girl. She’s hits and hit-its. It’s why she’s casual sex and never meet the parents. It’s why she’s cleavage over conversation. It’s why she used to have pics on her feed to check if her thong matched her lipstick. She’s instafamous and hardcore awesome and the Twitter Princess and a hashtag queen and Once Upon a Selfie, that would’ve been enough. It wasn’t now. Not since Henry.

 _1, 2, 3 1, 2, 3 Drink. Throw 'em back, til I lose count_.  
As soon as she steps off the stage, she hits the dance floor hard and the bar harder. 1, 2, 3, drink, lather, rinse, repeat. She smiles and squeals and bites undone bowties and hugs and WHOO!s and runs around and manages not to twerk or grind cause her heart wouldn’t be in it. And if the mask slips in the space between every few songs, and her head sinks into her hand to hide the tears (the pulsing beats drown out the random broken sobs that slip her lips) she can just say she’s getting a headache- and a shot is on its way.

 _I’m gonna swing from the chandelier._  
Reckless behavior exacerbated by excessive drinking. That was her label after the second stint in rehab; first time was for pills- which barely counts; how else do you crash diet?- and the last three were for sexual addiction. That file in HR wasn’t going to pad itself, #ammiright?

In the back of her mind she knows her actions tonight are going to be splashed over 50 feeds by the time the party ends, but the party’s never over for a party girl. As long as her makeup holds up and no one tags her curled in on herself in the background, she's A-OK. And it's not like Henry cares... so why should she?

She should know better, but when her BAC gets this high, she gets EUA- emotionally unavailable. She doesn’t want to feel, not when being felt (and felt up and feeling someone else) is _**soooo**_ much better. She can’t take the feels, so she prefs the phys right now. Cronut at 945pm (#sugar rush, #bitch plz I ain't crying) doesn’t satisfy, so she chucks it, the remnants of the glaze tagging her fingers. And by the time the bottle is a distant memory in a corner recycling station (damn Henry for making her all environmentally conscious), she’s reapplied her NARS gloss in Orgasm and is side-knocking Freddy’s door.

 _I’m holding on for dear life, won’t look down, won’t open my eyes_.  
His hair is dark, but brown not black like Henry’s- and Henry would never gel his swoop. His eyes are bright and red-rimmed and lacking in intelligence- so Eliza doesn’t dare open hers. He’s too tall and he doesn’t smell quite right and she can feel the Adonis belt that Henry would never have- but with her eyes closed, a hazy Higgs appears in her mind and she can chase it through shed clothes and sliding skin.

Her pain flits on fleeting wings, peeping out through her blown pupils like a bird in the night- just a flash of movement before it’s gone again, making you question if it was ever there. Sometimes Henry catches the glimpse- but atm, he's not here to catch anything.

It’s only supposed to be for the night. For an hour, a night, one party, one time. It’s supposed to be the quick fix, the band-aid she’ll have to rip off in the morning. But without Henry, she’s not just holding on for the night, and her fingers are getting tired. She’s out of practice and it hurts, more than it should, more than she’ll be able to stand.

 _Sun is up, I'm a mess. Gotta get out now, gotta run from this. Here comes the shame, here comes the shame…  
_ It’s going to hurt when she wakes up in the morning, and not just from the sunlight stabbing into her hangover head because Freddy forgot to close the blackout curtains. It’s going to hurt in the morning, when she wanders into work in one of Freddy’s button downs and a tie for a belt, emergency heels swapped out for her Converse kicks, swiped Raybans hiding her eyes until she can hit the ladies and freshen up. It's gonna hurt, keeping that smile pinned on, fresh mani digging half-moons into her palm.

It’s gonna hurt like hell come lunchtime, when she finds out Henry didn’t leave last night.

**Author's Note:**

> so I really fell for this series, not just b.c I <3 the source material, and I'm hoping it comes back.


End file.
